Fishing is the only source of income I know
Along the Ugandan shore of Lake Albert, a presidential directive is reshaping the ancient rhythm of fishing communities in Kagadi District, reducing the fleet from eight hundred boats to two hundred and sixty-four in the name of conservation and order. The logic of sustainability is sound — years of illegal methods and overcrowding have depleted the lake's stocks — yet the human arithmetic is harder to balance, as more than a thousand workers find themselves removed from the only livelihood they have ever known. Selection committees have tried to prioritize the most vulnerable, but vulnerability is not so easily sorted, and the gap between a policy's intention and its human consequence can be vast. What is being saved for the future may be coming at the cost of those who have no future to wait for.
- A sweeping presidential order has cut Lake Albert's fishing fleet by more than half overnight, leaving over 1,200 workers suddenly without access to the water that sustained them.
- Seven-member management committees now police each of the eight landing sites, with the district commissioner warning that corruption in the selection process will be met with arrest — yet some fishermen, like Daniel Aduba, say they were removed on disputed grounds after initially being chosen.
- Those left behind have no land to farm, no capital to start businesses, and no education that translates easily to other work — the government's advice to 'pursue other economic activities' lands as instruction without infrastructure.
- Fish prices are expected to climb as supply contracts while demand holds steady, meaning the communities that lost their income may also face higher costs for the food they once helped provide.
- No transition program, retraining scheme, or financial safety net has been announced, leaving displaced fishermen and fish traders like Sarah Ayesiga warning that entire families will slide deeper into poverty before any ecological benefit is felt.
On the Ugandan shore of Lake Albert, a quiet but wrenching transformation is underway. Across eight landing sites in Kagadi District's Ndaiga sub-county — Kabukanga, Nguse, Kitebere, Songarawo, Rwebigongoro, Ndaiga, Nyamasoga, and Kamiina — more than five hundred fishing boats are being pulled from the water. Where roughly eight hundred vessels once worked the lake, only two hundred and sixty-four will remain, each site capped at thirty-three boats and one hundred fishmongers.
The directive came from the presidency, framed as a necessary correction to years of illegal fishing methods, unauthorized gear, and environmental neglect that have depleted the lake's stocks. Seven-member management committees have been established at each site to enforce the new rules. Kagadi's Resident District Commissioner Caroline Nanshemeza launched the committees with a firm warning against corruption, while fisheries officer Francis Xavier Gwazo explained that the selection process was designed to prioritize the most vulnerable — widows, single mothers, and households with no other means of survival.
But the policy's logic and the reality on the ground do not always meet. Daniel Aduba of Ndaiga was selected, then removed after officials claimed he was Congolese — despite years of life and work on the lake. John Byaruhanga of Nyamasoga described families stranded after lifetimes on the water, while Robert Mugenyi of Kabukanga noted the obvious gap in the plan: most displaced fishermen have no education, no capital, and no land. Fish trader Sarah Ayesiga appealed for a transition plan before removals take effect, pointing out that government advice to seek other work means little to someone with no money and no alternative skills.
Gwazo acknowledged that fish prices will rise as supply shrinks, and offered guidance to management committees on avoiding breeding areas — but no timeline for recovery, no retraining program, and no acknowledgment that removing someone from their only livelihood without offering another is not a solution. The lake may grow healthier. The fish stocks may return. But the cost of that recovery will fall on people with no savings and no cushion to absorb it, in a silence where a plan for the fishery exists but a plan for the fishermen does not.
On Lake Albert's Ugandan shore, in the eight landing sites that dot Ndaiga sub-county along the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo, a quiet upheaval is underway. More than five hundred fishing boats are being removed from the water. Where once roughly eight hundred vessels worked the lake, only two hundred and sixty-four will remain. The reduction is sharp, deliberate, and final for those left behind.
The directive came from the presidency, framed as a necessary correction. Years of uncontrolled fishing—illegal methods, unauthorized gear, poor waste disposal—have depleted the stocks. The eight landing sites, named Kabukanga, Nguse, Kitebere, Songarawo, Rwebigongoro, Ndaiga, Nyamasoga, and Kamiina, will each be allowed just thirty-three boats and a maximum of one hundred fishmongers. Seven-member management committees have been established at each site to enforce the new rules and monitor compliance. Kagadi Resident District Commissioner Caroline Nanshemeza launched the committees last week with a warning: corruption will not be tolerated. Anyone caught taking bribes will be arrested and removed.
The rationale is sound in its way. Francis Xavier Gwazo, the district's fisheries officer, explained that the reduction will eliminate congestion, curb illegal practices, and reduce the conflicts that arise when too many people compete for the same water. The selection process, he said, prioritizes the most vulnerable—widows, single mothers, households with no other means of survival. Those with alternative income sources, the logic goes, should pursue other work and strengthen the local economy. Across all eight sites, roughly eight hundred people will retain access to the lake for fishing, down from more than two thousand before.
But the mathematics of survival do not always align with policy. Daniel Aduba of Ndaiga was initially selected as a beneficiary, then removed. Officials told him he was Congolese, despite having lived and worked on the lake for many years. Fishing is the only livelihood he knows. John Byaruhanga of Nyamasoga Landing Site spoke of families now stranded, people who have spent entire lives on the water and cannot imagine work elsewhere. Robert Mugenyi of Kabukanga pointed out what officials had not addressed: most affected fishermen lack education and capital to start businesses. They own no land for farming. Without support, he said, many families will sink deeper into poverty.
The women who trade fish face their own precarity. Sarah Ayesiga appealed for a transition plan before people are removed from the lake. Government advice to pursue other economic activities rings hollow when the person hearing it has no money, no land, and no skills beyond the work they have always done. If only a few traders remain, she said, many women will lose their income entirely.
Gwazo acknowledged that the immediate future will be difficult. Fish prices will rise because supply will shrink while demand stays constant. He warned beneficiaries against encroaching on breeding areas and advised the management committees against conducting water patrols—enforcement should be left to marine authorities. But he offered no timeline for when life might become easier, no program to help the excluded find new work, no acknowledgment that telling someone to leave their only livelihood without offering an alternative is not a plan but an abandonment.
The lake will be healthier, perhaps. Fish stocks may recover. But the cost of that recovery will be paid by people who have no savings, no education, and no way to absorb the shock of sudden joblessness. The government has decided what must be done to save the fishery. It has not decided what to do for the fishermen.
Citas Notables
We have spent our entire lives on the lake. Today we are being told to leave fishing and look for other work, but nobody is telling us where that work will come from.— John Byaruhanga, Nyamasoga Landing Site
For some time, life may become difficult for both fishermen and consumers. Fish prices are likely to increase because supply will reduce while demand remains high.— Francis Xavier Gwazo, Kagadi District Fisheries Officer
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why remove so many boats at once? Why not phase it in gradually?
The depletion is real and urgent—years of overfishing and illegal methods have damaged the stocks. A gradual approach might feel humane, but it also delays recovery. Officials see it as a crisis requiring swift action.
But the people being removed—they have no backup plan. How does that serve anyone?
It doesn't, not them. The selection process does try to protect the most vulnerable, but it's imperfect. Some people slip through or get removed for reasons they don't understand. The system assumes people can pivot to other work, but most can't.
What happens to fish prices?
They'll rise. Supply drops sharply while demand stays the same. That helps the remaining fishermen earn more per boat, but it hurts consumers and traders who depend on volume.
Is there any safety net for the displaced?
Not that's mentioned. No transition fund, no retraining program, no land redistribution. Just the instruction to find other work, which is advice without substance for someone with no capital and no skills outside fishing.
So the lake gets saved, but the people don't.
That's the tension. The environmental logic is sound. The human logic is absent.